Waco, Texas

The scantily clad bartender with the endless blonde hair says she doesn't know anything about the biker bloodbath Sunday night. But her mother's ex-husband rode with the Bandidos. Could I have his number? He was killed when he tried to leave, she says. The bar's not allowing any bikers in. Another hangout: west side of Waco. This isn't really a biker bar, the bartender says. But bikers come here? Oh, yeah. All the time, but haven't seen 'em since Sunday. The last place, A crying shame, advertises plainly: no bikers! Inside, people complain. Fuckin bandidos. It's a beautiful day and I can't ride my bike. One man said he drove by that Saturday afternoon. Seeing all those people out in the parking lot, I just knew something was going down. Nine dead, 170 arrested. Any innocents? No one's talking except the police who say everybody's part of a criminal gang. These places are black holes without windows, illuminated only by the cigarette vending machines and a spotlight over the pool table. It's smoky and people have tattoos but bikers, at least this week, are not to be found.